Tag Archives: powers

The Stranger’s Superheroic Four-Hour Show

A double-wide feature for you listeners this week, as I unsuspectingly find myself filling time, while putting the finishing touches on the Superheroic Stranger in a Strange Land! Four hours of music, experimentation, and news!

For Psionic Dehiscence I pull out some lightly seasoned tapes, the Frank Zappa Crossfire debate, Michael Hedges, the great William F. Buckley/Noam Chomsky debate, and the Firesign Theatre.

Lionel Hampton – Glad Hamp – Jazzmaster
Clatworthy Saunders – In Your Own Sweet Way – All That Jazz
Cannonball Adderley – Moanin’
Louis Armstrong – Let’s Do it (Let’s Fall in Love)
The Firesign Theatre – The Ralph Spoilsport Mantrum – How Can You Be In Two Places at Once When You’re Not Anywhere at all
Ella Fitzgerald & Duke Ellington – It Don’t Mean a Thing if It Don’t Have That Swing
Michael Hedges – Because its There

On The Stranger in a Strange Land we battle back the forces of evil, do the Batusi, ponder powered musician battles, super-politics, and every agency from the cia to the x-men.

SRC – In the Hall of the Mountain King
The Bagdhdaddies – Wonder Woman – Katchyazafta
Al Hirt – Green Hornet – Kill Bill Soundtrack
David McCallum – Batman Theme – Ultra-Lounge, Vol. 13: TV Town
Jan & Dean – The Joker is Wild – Meet Batman
Paul McCartney & Wings – Magneto and Titanium Man – Venus and Mars
Mel Tormè – Sunshine Superman – Ultra-Lounge: On the Rocks
Sun Ra – The Bat Cave – Batman (Original Motion Picture Score)
Sun Ra – The Penguin Chase – Batman
Sun Ra – Penguin’s Umbrella – Batman
The Apostles – Super Strut – Acid Jazz Story
They Might Be Giants – John Lee Supertaster – No!
Moe. – Captain America – Warts & All
Spin Doctors – Jimmy Olsen’s Blues – Pocket Full of Kryptonite
Weezer – In The Garage – Weezer
Sun Ra – Batman and Robin Swing – Batman and Robin
Sun Ra – The Riddler’s Retreat – Batman and Robin
Goldfinger – Superman – Hang-Ups
The Aquabats – Powdered Milk Man! – The Fury of the Aquabats!
Fastball – Human Torch – Make Your Mama Proud
Serge Gainsbourg – Comic Strip – Love and the Beat
Jelly Roll Morton – Wolverine Blues – Doctor Jazz
Black Sabbath – Iron Man – Reunion
Entombed – Wolverine Blues
Apollo 440 – Spider-Man Theme
Roam The Hello Clouds – Geoff As the Hulk – Near Mises
Deacon the Villian – X-Men
Dangerdoom – The Mask feat. Ghostface Killah – Mouse and the Mask
7L & Esoteric – Incredible Hulk Rap – Egoclapper
Lee Hazlewood – Batman – Batman and Robin
Gil Scot Heron – Ain’t No Such Thing as Superman
Wesley Willis – I Wupped Batman’s Ass

Stranger in a Strange Land 2010-04-03: Timefill/Superheroic! (Psionic) by The Stranger on Mixcloud

~The Stranger
thestranger@earthling.net

“It’s just words.”

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BRESHViC’s STAGEs of CRUNKeD

An intoxicating thought experiment or sobering self-reflection? Either way, the culmination of many years of incredibly stringent, incredibly onerous, and incredibly fun research. Though, as a high-brow high-society social drinker and a low-functioning low-class drunk, each situation dictates varying percentiles. I can stop any time I want. But for science…

1% is not very crunked at all, but has nonetheless started to consider the stages of crunked.

2% just wants to socialize, have a good time, and relax.

3% requires music. This is not an indication of crunkness, since that is always the case, so much as a slight increase in urgent tenacity.

4% knows how to control himself and thinks about each thing he’s going to say before saying it. Has plans this night to not get too fucked up, and will responsibly follow them.

5% doesn’t know which bag belongs to him.

6% has gotten amazingly MORE charming and witty and persuasive, if one can imagine, the most artful storyteller and cunning linguist.

7% feels pretty good, wants to meet new people and do new things.

8% looks down his nose at alcohol snobbery, and will try anything once.

9% has got to break the seal, gets shit for doing it so early, but knows there is no correlation between urination and crunkness.

10% is convinced the bartender is into him.

11% is tired of your drama, and will tell you so.

12% has suddenly and inexplicably gained encyclopedic access to every inane pop-culture reference ever.

13% needs you to be his wingman.

14% know how many drinks he has consumed, what they were, the last time he felt this way, and where that puts him in the universe. It is enjoyable to think about.

15% will talk sports now.

16% doesn’t mind the butterscotch Schnapp’s, despite disliking both flavors independently.

17% has somehow gotten better at darts and pool.

18% has to be in charge of the jukebox.

19% will mix you a new drink you have never heard of.

20% requires philosophy.

21% wishes ALL his friends could be here; then wishes all his friends lived in an island village with their own language and system of government and awesome things to do and giant turrets to protect them from the outside world.

23% has trouble with numbers.

24% must check the mirror again to make sure there isn’t shit on his face.

25% could use a cigarette, despite not being a smoker.

26% suddenly doesn’t mind the gossip, and would like to hear more.

27% is making sure to visit and talk to everyone.

28% always has time to flirt.

29% finds it preferable, nay, requisite, to rest his forehead against the cool wall and close his eyes for a moment while at the urinal.

30% doesn’t need a wingman.

31% would like a new place to drink.

32% doesn’t mind telling you how pretty you are.

33% would tell you his secret identity.

34% is convinced that looking into his eyes would make you fall in love with him, and takes precautions accordingly.

35% has decided that ‘snakebite’ is a good idea.

36% must splash water in his face.

37% has taken to yelling.

38% is annoyed at what is on the jukebox, uncharacteristically frowns.

39% is thinking about the inexorable march of time, the deep dark origin of the universe, the quantum secrets of matter, and the electric pulse of being and self.

40% is vaguely wondering what stage this is…

41% thinks nachos are a good idea.

42% is prepared to not only micturate in public, but proudly declare such fact as ‘marking territory’

43% will talk to anyone… ANYONE.

44% wants to help the other people who are getting sick or passed out too early.

45% is sexually attracted to you, but not more than to self, and could look at he mirror forever.

46% wins every argument with loudness.

47% remembers the good times.

48% clearly doesn’t need to wear these glasses anymore.

49% wonders if this is what he’ll do at his ten-year high school reunion.

50% notes who is more drunk, unruly, and with poorer judgement than himself, purely for comparison, and certainly not for comedic value or ego inflation.

51% realizes he hasn’t done this in a long time, with equal parts regret, delight, bedevilment and relish.

52% is shit-talking you.

53% can’t remember if it’s ‘beer before liquor’ or ‘liquor before beer.’

54% could live this way forever.

55% doesn’t mind the mint schnapp’s despite outright loathing mint

56% would eat a sealed bag of potato chips out of a dumpster.

57% laughs at every inside joke, even the ones he’s not a part of.

58% can (and shall) recite a whole movie or tv series with your help.

59% enjoys every single thing on the jukebox.

60% feels pretty good, wants to do new people and meet new things.

61% doesn’t care whether you’re impressed with him or not, aren’t you impressed by that?

62% is getting claustrophobic and needs fresh air.

63% has rediscovered his cellphone and the numbers of people he hasn’t seen in ages, or the people who said they were coming out drinking tonight but didn’t.

64% doesn’t want to make any more decisions… ever.

65% is about to tell off that one jerk.

66% misses all the dead homies.

67% is perplexed and confounded by simple things like mirrors.

68% would pee on a church with his buddies and laugh triumphantly.

69% doesn’t mind being licked.

70% would eat an unsealed bag of potato chips out of a dumpster.

71% wants you to save that empty jug as a “trophy of this conquest”.

72% has superpowers.

73% may just have to start dancing and singing.

74% debates both the quality and veracity of this beard and haircut.

75% has given you a new nickname.

76% doesn’t understand you, but just nods and listens, allows you to finish, and then tells you he didn’t understand you.

77% is, at this point, so fucking sick of this shit.

78% can’t remember every drink of the night, but tries in vain anyway.

79% is pretty sure he can get home okay.

80% needs to slow down for a minute, just until the ground stops moving.

81% frowns trying to remember that thing that he was so close to remembering from earlier that must have been so important to still remember that it desperately needs remembering.

82% isn’t very likable right now.

83% needs to pee again, convinced it is the only thing that can help.

84% cannot pronounce real words, so just yells out syllables like “WOO,” “FOOM,” “PO-DAM,” and laughs hysterically.

85% hopes the whole neighborhood heard that, the fuckers.

86% has no more interest in flirting.

87% would sleep in the potato-chip-bag dumpster.

88% has lost motor control in his legs and mouth.

89% doesn’t remember any of this.

90% thinks some things, but then thinks better of them.

91% is scared of mirrors, and whatever dwells within.

92% finds video games and television to both be BAD ideas.

93% for some reason, thinks the sink is the best place to do this…

94% is angry and disappointed.

95% needs a shower.

96% tries cleaning the sink.

97% just needs quiet and darkness, not unlike a filthy cockroach.

98% though passed out, is congratulated by party-goers for “knowing how to party.”

99% can definitively be described as crunked.

100% is dead.

Possible Side Effects

Unfortunately, with great power comes a lot of nagging, incessant pains in the ass. Considering what my capabilities are actually capable of, I need to be extra careful. It’s like messing with the source code, or randomly deleting files from your computer willy-nilly. And we all know what can happen. Willy. And. Nilly. Time freezing forever! Vortexes ripping the sky asunder! Everything on the planet losing gravity and floating up into space, screaming in confusion and horror! A suddenly created momentum towards a brick wall! Skyscrapers losing mass! Increased density of the oceans! Uncalled for teleportation! The implosion of the Earth and neighboring heavenly bodies upon themselves! The sudden transmutation of all local matter into Beef Croquettes! I have learned that with casual apathy, and NOT keen concentration, I can control my skills with greater ease and less risk (I learned this after many weeks wasted in concentration camp). Certain abilities, like walking on hydrogen molecules, or bending light into various fractals, doesn’t require much, and can be a sort of second thought reaction, which doesn’t result in much mayhem. Sometimes, I think I slip into alternate dimensions unknowingly, where everything is exactly the same except for the conversation I’d just been having. A man on the bus turns to me and continues a conversation that I was not aware that we were having. He says; “But I do like that hat, though. Like I say, you need a big feather for it.” I had to check, but I was pretty sure at the time that I wasn’t wearing a hat is crawfish season, and I’m very excited! Thank you for axing! Oy, I wish I was recreating with some herbal supplements (or CDs) right now. I haven’t exactly talked to Sampson in a while. NOTE to Future-Breshvic: All Systems Are Go.

I Had too much to dream last night

Last night I dreamed that I worked for Homeland Security and we were hunting a known terrorist (who could control time and space with his mind, which means it was pretty futile… yes, I’ve been watching too much ‘Heroes’). Anyways, I was to meet up with my C.O., when this wiry black airport security guy shoves a dime bag in my hand and hurries back to his post. It struck me then that we must have pre-arranged an airport drug deal. The dime bag suddenly becomes two. Then I leave him a $39 bill at the lunchroom table where I’m sitting, just beyond the security check-in. Then these two hippie kids sit at a table adjacent to me. And at a table to my right sat some gay kid, who, when I picked up my jacket to go and dropped the bag on the ground (inevitably), picks it up and hands it to me quickly and obviously and says loudly, ‘you dropped your pot!’ Then the head security guard storms over yelling, ‘what the fuck is going on over here?’ The two kids to my left stammer, ‘Uh- I- um, like, some kind of drug deal… marihuana…’ The MAN yells, ‘separate tables all of you!’ That’s when my walkie-talkie blares and my C.O. yells ‘where the hell are you? get your ass down here!’ So I produce the baggie and indicate the security guard move closer. He does. I show him my ID, badge, and whisper, ‘I’m with Homeland Security, I’m undercover. There is a known dangerous terrorist in your airport right now and I need to get to the scene. I could get fired for telling you this and I don’t even want to think of the interrogation you’ll get for knowing it, but you need to let me go… NOW.’ He does. I stop and turn around and slide the bag back in my pocket, all of them onlooking, amazed.

Earlier, I had been a castmember of Scoobie Doo. I think I was Fred, which I have mixed feeling about because I should obviously be Shaggy, and I have to wear an ascot. But at least I get to fuck Sarah Michelle Gellar. Anyways, this evil serial killer had taken refuge in a castle made of haystacks, full of booby-traps. He says that in fifty minutes he’ll let it collapse on the hostages, and us if we’re in there. So I’m like, ‘fuck that,’ and use my incredible acrobatic skills to scale the outside of this fortress, get to where I want, release a net, and free the hostages. Who are all floating sickle-cell balloon animals that talk. They thank us and we put the serial killer in prison.

Another time I broke into a friend’s house in the middle of the night to leave them a toaster. He and his whole family wake up, and it is tense for a moment, not to mention embarrassing. But I clear everything up. He gets his surprise toaster, and I don’t get my head bashed in.

God, I love sleep!

I don’t know if my mood reflects the weather, or the other way around

Sometimes I feel like firestarter, like I was born the God of shitty mornings and nobody told me. I look at the sky and I say, “well, thus began his shitty day.” Now, am I affirming what the weather of Gotham is telling me I must believe, or would I have felt that way regardless, and the weather is always a coincidence, OR, is my shitty mood intertwined with the meteorological patterns like Elliot was to E.T.’s drunk ass. And ANOTHER thing, why was he called E.T. the Extraterrestrial. E.T. stands for Extraterrestrial. His full name is basically Extraterrestrial the Extraterrestrial. But I bet his real name on his home planet, (where apparently they really like flowers) is called Dong Thrustforth. Yeah. That’s a lot cooler. And more importantly, why do I keep thinking of young Drew Barrymore movies. Damn the Barrymore family!

I should not be allowed to think while riding the bus. Or showering. Or walking on Southside.

Here is what a normal art student’s mind sounds like when walking on Southside after consuming a marihuana cigarette in an empty movie theatre that has just played “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.” Ahem… “Man, that movie blew. And by that I mean it rocked. It sucked so bad it was awesome. Like Dr. Who. But more like Starship Troopers… 2… Yeah, the book was better. Then again, the book didn’t have a musical opening… hey, what does that sign say? ‘New Dining Why Gotham Works.’ Grandma Moses, that sentence doesn’t even make sense! It’s not even a sentence. That’s just poor design and I’m not even a graphic designer. ‘New Dining’? Do they mean new Dining Establishment? Is that a fragment? No! It’s a fragment of a fragment! It’s a shell casing! Jesus H. Christ on a Criscuit Cracker with Cheese that’s stupid! And the whole sentence probably wouldn’t make much sense either… And what do they mean by Gotham Works? That’s the name of the new shopping area, so ‘Works’ is not a verb. It’s part of the proper noun. Did they mean ‘New Dining Establishments are coming to Gotham Works?’ Why would they put the word ‘why’ in there? Did they mean ‘New Dining Establishments Are Why Gotham Works… Works?’ God! Hey, who is that guy? I know that guy. He looks familiar! Pete… Paul… Pat… Patrick! I used to hang out with him! Hey dude, what’s up? You go to Polytechnic, right? We used to smoke up with Mike Philips? Yeah! Awesome, haven’t seen you in ages! Sweet pop rocks! That reminds me, I have to call my friend Paul in Arizona. I will use my new cell phone! Okay.. okay… shit I got his machine.. I will not leave a message. Hey, I know this guy, too! It’s Buddy from when I worked at the record store. Is that your girl? Cool, man, it’s been a while. No. Me either. Shit, the Photo Hut is gone! And better yet, the Groovy Emporium is displaying a bunch of PEZ dispensers! Who in their right mind would need that many PEZ? They even have a Marvin the Martian PEZ. Come end of the week, when I cash my check, if that sucka still there, he be mine. And Dave has the new Bryan Adams. Who in their right mind would need the new Bryan Adams? I’m hungry. Why isn’t the Barrel open past three? If they were open 24 hours they’d make a shit-ton of money. I’m tired.”

They’re not good ideas, but I had to get them out of my head before they rotted my insides like crack-cocaine. And if it hadn’t been for my horse I wouldn’t have spent that year in college.

There was this fat lady in the movie theatre, not that I make fun of people for that usually, but she was REALLY annoying. I mean, I didn’t even see her get through the doors but it was an astounding concept. And she TALKED through the whole movie… “Hey, this is a reference to the third book, ‘So Long and Thanks for all the Fish!'” What tipped you off? When the dolphins repeatedly sang ‘SO LONG AND THANKS FOR ALL THE MOTHER FUCKIN FISH???’ And then she says, “Wow, there’s another Douglas Adams reference.” Yo, it’s not a REFERENCE when they are optioning a MOVIE based on his BOOK! The entire thing is a reference. No, it’s an ADAPTATION. It’s an INTERPRETATION! Then she says, “You’re not supposed to be smoking that in here!” like some narc or something, so I gave her my popcorn. It was only five dollars and there was way too much of it for me to eat and then it all made sense. It wasn’t her fault that she was fat. Growing up, her parents must have just kept putting Flintstones Push-Pops in her mouth whenever she wouldn’t SHUT THE HELL UP! And why the fuck did she sit next to me in an EMPTY movie theatre? Nobody else was there!! She had the entire movie theatre to take up, and she practically DID! But why centrally locate your mass near ME, unless you want a contact buzz?

And you know what else? There are these people who come up to me and say, “Hey, You’re Bill… Nye… heh… the Science Guy…” and then they sing the song because it rhymes so well and say “BILL NYE THE SCIENCE GUY!” I hate him! I hate his fucking face and I want to feed him PCP so he’ll slice of bits of it and feed it to his dog, because his dog needs soem fucking kosher-face nutrition. Fuck science! And fuck his first name! And fuck fostering a love of learning in the generations of tomorrow! God, people who do that “Bill Nye” shit make me wanna… wanna.. take a black plastic spork and scoop out chunks of flesh from their body. Yes. And I do not want to commit to certain parts of the body, because I like to improv. I need the flexibility, I’m an artsy Bohemian type who thrives on an open and liberal environment of creative stimulation. Sometimes I feel like a knee scoop, sometimes I feel like a nipple scoop, and sometimes… not often but sometimes… I go for the eyebrow scoop. This is handy because then the flesh grows back there but the hair doesn’t. It’s what happened to TOny Danza. He came up to me and we introduced ourselves and then HE thought it would be funny to say, “Hey, yo must be Bill… Bill Nye the Science Guy…” and then he sang it, and then he danced a little in place, and that was a knell, TOny Danza, that beckon thee to heaven or to hell. Because then, while he still reveleth in all his self-serving wit, I took my black plastic spork, stinky with the flesh of the ages, and digging claw-side first dug it deeply into the geletinous ballistic-styled gel of his eyebrow, slowly rotating the scoop until it pulled forth a quivering mass of meat and hair, and let it fall to the ground with a juicy SMAT! He was screaming and bleeding and asking, in a thick Brooklyn accent, why I would ever even THINK do that, let alone write about it in my blog, and I replied, “WHO’S THE BOSS NOW, BITCH!”

Hold me closer, TOny Danza… count the headlights on the highway….

I really fucked up his shit, yo. Auschwitz: da original ghetto.

So, Pharli and I were driving and we heard, on the radio, “The Boys Are Back in Town” by Thin Lizzy. Now, I have the sort of musical upbringing by my father that can be likened to the Jewish Kid in Chaim Potok’s “The Chosen.” But Pharli is a bit arrogant, so when he starts rambling about music I like to throw red herrings out there like the fishmonger from the Muppet Show. “Man, I love Canadian rock.” I say. “Saga, Guess Who, Rush, and Bachman Turner Overdrive.” I indicate the radio. Pharli, who agrees with me on the Canadian Rock subject, let’s not waver on that issue, says, “THis is an Irish band.” I say no. I know where this is going. We go back and forth, “This is Thin Lizzy” “No, this is BTO.” UNtil he calls the radio station. Predictable.

This is what the DJ (not from full house) heard that evening

Pharli: “Hello, I just wanna know if the song you JUST played was by Thin LIzzy, or Bachman Turner Overdrive ((background: it’s BTO, man!))
DJ: That was Thin Lizzy, man.
Pharli: I KNEW IT! ((fuck you!)) I FUCKING KNEW IT!! ((they DID that song, I know it!)) YOU EAT THE FUCKING STEAK SIRLOIN FROM MY ASSLESS CHAPS, I KNEW IT!!
DJ: What?
Pharli: Yeah, I wanna make a request. ((oh no!)) That’s right I wanna hear “Twilight ZOne” By Golden Earring. ((Fuck you, let me out of this car, man.
DJ: Okay, whatever man. What’s your name?
Pharli: Pharli. ((asshole!))
DJ: I’ll get right on that, Pharli.
Pharli: Okay now, take care.

They never played his song.

So long and thanks for all the fish.